Mein Angel, Mein Anathema
by Daitsuke-kun
Summary: He watched her, her pale face, her stoned features, knowing, sensing she'll be the death of him someday... But still, she was his angel. An unusual agnsty onesided Irving/Jill. Inspired by the song "Haunted" by Evanenscence.


**_Name: Mein angel, mein anathema (my angel, my curse)_**

**_Disclaimer: An unusual angsty onesided Irving/Jill. . _**

**_Summary: He watched her, her pale face, her stoned features, knowing, sensing she'll be the death of him someday... But still, she was his angel. _**  


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Irving sighted, taking off his sunglasses, revealing his pale blue eyes as he sat on her bed, touching her white forehead with his now ungloved hand. She got ill somehow, perhaps because of the virus Wesker injected in her, and Excella ordered him to look after her. The noble member of Gionne family couldn't do it hrself, as she said, because she had a lot of work and was too preoccupied, and besides, didn't even want to help her guardian not one bit. "I'm not a slave of her's, but she's my slave", pointed out Excella, hurrying to another meeting with her beloved superoir.

Irving smirked bitterly. It wasn't like he was a coldhearted bastard that couldn't even tke care of someone, it's just... It just didn't fit with his character. He was a weapon's dealer, and it was a little bit strange to be sitting in the room of this mysterious lady and taking care of her. It felt... Foreign, and odd to him. He couldn't remember the last time he took care of someone. He couldn't take care of his brother when he was dying of some unknown illness, and he couldn't help him, only helplessly stare at him, watching his mother cry over him.

_"Mom, what's happening? Why is Richard so cold?"- little Ricardo asked as he touched his brother's cold hands._

_His mother smiled at him tearfully, pain evident in her eyes. _

_"It's okay, sweety, your brother is just... He's just..." - she couldn't bring herself to say it out aloud. She closed her face with her slender hands, and started to quitely cry again._

_Little Ricardo sat himself in the corner and started to cry too. Since then, Richard dissapeared from his life; they buried him, and he often went to his brother's grave, not understanding how it could be comfortable for his brother to lay there. _

_"Come play out with me, why did you have to go there..."_

_But Richard never returned. _

It was fifteen years ago; but the memories were still fresh. It was the first time when Ricardo Irving saw death.

She had fever, he assumed, touching her forehead once again. He stood up and took a white towel from the cupboard. Wetting it with cold water, he squeezed all unnecessary liquid out of the material and put the cool towel on her forehead.

He just hated seeing people dying before him since his brother...

The weapon's dealer shook his head. He didn't like remembering this.

She started to thrash in her bed, yelling something in a mix of english and swahilli. The sounds were barking, unpleasant, desperate. The towel from her forehead fell to the floor, and the blankets, covering her naked form as well.

He had to take this stupid battlesuit and her black cloak off of her so she won't get overheat. Her body glistened with perspiration, showing that her illness indeed was progressing. Irving covered her body with the blanket again, not because of modesty, but beause she needed to stay warm.

He sat on the bed once again, and genty pushed the strands of hair out of her eyes when her thrashing stopped for a moment.

Her eyes shot opened as her body stiffened, her mouth opening, trying to breathe some air in. It appeared she couldn't. That was dangerous, she could easily die if he didn't do anything.

The image of the lifeless form of his brother appeared in his mind, but he quickly forgot it, consentrating on his task. Seconds were too precious, they could decide everything, her - and probably his - fate.

Irving quickly took the needle from the table and injected it into her shoulder. She breathed in quite an ammount of air and relaxed on the bed, her eyes closing, her cheeks becoming a little redder.

He didn't know if that was an entirely good sign, but still.

He put the needle away and stroke her cheks gently with his long fingers, tracing the contours of her face, eventually stopping at her lips. She was indeed a beauty; when relaxed, her face looked almost tender and so vulnerable... Unlike when she was in action, everything about her was so stoned and so wrong... Yet so right and deadly.

He knew there was that female inside her left somewhere, of whom he'd heard before, that kind and strong B.S.A.A. member, and not a pawn of a man he despised and feared so much.

Sometimes we despise the ones we fear and fear the ones we despise; isn't that odd?..

He didn't despise or fear her, however. She didn't seem like a pawn to him, even though this... Device with P-30 was on her chest. She was something else, he knew she tried to resist, but couldn't.

Wesker was too powerfull for her, at least for now.

He wished he could help her; he wished he could do something for her.

He didn't know why. Ricardo Irving just didn't know.

She was his weakness, and he knew, he sensed she'd be the cause of his death someday, as he watched her features, as she frowned in her unconciousness. But still, she was his angel.

_Don't you dare die on me. _

He could not have taken it anymore. He knew he'll go mad.

If he already wasn't, that's it. He was just too weak, too weak to resist, too weak... He didn't like feeling weak, but it's not like he could do anything about it. He was just a human after all.

Ricardo Irving put the red-brown gloves on his hands as he took the case with the virus samples and quitely exited her room. He knew if he'll stay near her a little bit more, he'll probably go insane.

As Irving went out, the African sun hit his sensetive eyes. Irving put on his sunglasses, and, taking a last glance at the window of the room where she was, hurried to the meeting with Excella.  


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End file.
